


Cherry trees.

by scibfs (bearprincess)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Poetry now science later, Strictly porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearprincess/pseuds/scibfs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got so far as to think you own the universe -- Pablo Neruda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry trees.

“I want to do to you,” Bruce’s lips are brushing against his wrist, planting his customary soft, slow kisses as he speaks, “what spring does to cherry trees.” If Tony was expecting anything it wasn’t this strange poetic bullshit. What did that mean, anyway? Vague fucking metaphor. Is Bruce going to make him photosynthesize suddenly, make him—fffuck.

Tony will never get quite used to his fingers. Big and square and thick inside him, and they drag even though Bruce is always careful to coat them with too much lube. Feels fucking good, makes Tony’s mouth open in a pant and a low whine because he got caught off-guard. Bruce is smiling down at him when he bothers to look up.

Once Tony has time to catch up with what his body is feeling he’s back to thinking. Bruce had to have looked poems up sometime. Poor guy was getting soft on him—well, in strictly the semi-romantic sense. Right now Tony can feel his cock twitching against his thigh he’s so hard. And anyway, Tony knows Bruce knows that they’re men of science. People of science, Tony has to remind himself. Has to stay P.C. for the big—nnn, he loses his track of thought as those Bruce’s fingers twist inside him—big… something that was later and didn’t matter holy hell that felt good. He rocked his hips down for more and Banner _chuckled_ , the smug bastard.

He might get the idea when Bruce slowly urges a third finger inside him. The cherry trees thing. He gets it if Bruce meant he wanted Tony to turn pink from head to toe because he’s never felt all the blood so close to his skin. And he likes this, likes the too-hot feeling and the slow drag, the way his spine arches clean off the bed when Bruce crooks his fingers right over his prostate. “Bruce…” His name is a hiss and a hiccup rolling off his tongue, and he clutches Bruce’s arm tighter.

If Bruce was anyone else he would be riding their cock right now, desperate to come, to be fucked. But he loves the sweet slowness as much as everything else about Bruce. Feels like he is blooming under his touches and kisses, these light little traces on his collarbone and neck. He bucks down again and can’t stop himself from moaning. Tony Stark shouldn’t come undone this easily, he thinks, and then his head rocks back on his shoulders as Bruce thrusts his fingers with more strength.

Bruce’s silence just accentuates the fact he can’t ever keep goddamn quiet in bed, even when he wants to. Under normal circumstances he’d be talking, telling Bruce how good this felt and how good his thick cock was going to feel in explicit detail. But Bruce’s gaze makes him almost uncomfortable, and through pants and whine and bucks down on his hand he fights through the swimming feeling in his head to figure out why. He realizes Bruce is almost _reverent_ about this, like he’s worth the time and effort to go slow, like he’s a thing to be worshipped with kisses and soft touches and goddamn if idea doesn’t make him whine a little louder.

Bruce quiets him by sliding his lips against Tony’s open ones, soft and thick and wet from his own tongue swiping over them. God, they’re perfect, and Tony tries his best to stop panting and groaning so he can kiss him back. But it’s hard when he wants his fingers so much and is too light-headed and hazy to really focus on something as complicated as kissing. Bruce smiles gently against his lips and suddenly his fingers are gone, leaving Tony writhing on the bed with emptiness.

“Bruce—“ He’s cut off again with another kiss and Bruce hiking his legs up over his shoulders. There are seconds that feels like hours before Bruce slides into him, and once he does he swears he can see all the colors of spring burst behind his eyes. It might be sappy as hell but he’s thinking it, and Bruce thrusts so gently it’s like he’s breakable. And he’s slipping into making love; his hips roll down, and he knits his eyebrows and tugs a little on Bruce’s hair to pull him back into a heated kiss. Bruce is making him want this more than fast fucks and rough-and-tumble one night flings. Like he’s under a spell. He groans and flexes his toes as Bruce thrusts deeper into him, makes him bend nearly in half. He hears a low, throaty whine and it takes him five seconds too long to realize it was from his own mouth.

Bruce is all rolling muscle and heavy pants and beads of sweat and earth-and-rain scent. Tony’s nostrils flare trying to take it all in. He swallows and his eyes roll back, Bruce’s breath against his neck making him almost unbearably hot. His muscles clench around Bruce’s cock and he finally pulls a moan out of Bruce’s throat. Sometimes they got through whole sessions like this without Bruce making any noise. But he always said Tony’s name, in the end. He’s saying it now against his head like a prayer, through his hair like soft wind through trees.

Tony feels like he’s not getting enough oxygen and Bruce is crushing him but his touch is as light as ever and he’s rolling just as carefully but a little faster now, panting faster too. And then Tony breathes in, and it’s salty and right, and Bruce is smiling again. “Don’t forget to breathe, baby.” Baby. Again with the reverence and gentleness. Like he’s going to hurt him, like he doesn’t like being suffocated. Despite all the times Tony has asked for someone to clench their hands around his throat he feels like he’s more suffocated than ever with Bruce being as vanilla as can be. Bruce wraps his hand around his cock and Tony lets his eyes flutter shut, rocking back and forth between both kinds of sweet pressure.

They come together like something out straight out of a romance novel, and post-orgasm flush spread like fire on his legs and stomach, all the way up to his neck. He remembers being sunburned as a snot-nosed kid on the Fourth of July and all those good forgotten summer things, everything warm inside him. The winter ice thaws a little, seasons change. Bruce kisses his neck sloppily and that feels good so he hums and smiles and opens his eyes again, really looking at the man next to him. He catches himself still smiling but it’s alright because Bruce is smiling too, for once a genuine, I-just-got-laid ear-to-ear grin. And Bruce kisses him on the lips again and looks down at him and it looks like he’s about to spill over the brim with something he wants to say but isn’t saying, and then he rolls off, and immediately he’s asleep.

And Tony stares at the ceiling.


End file.
